


Moth and Light

by souligneur



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Attempted Murder, Canon-atypical violence, Explicit Gore, Gen, Mass Murder, Referenced Drug Abuse, Vulpes being a bastard, War Crimes, violence involving a child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 07:31:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6185971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/souligneur/pseuds/souligneur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Have you hid here this whole time? Or did you run here, like a dog?” Vulpes removed his knife from its sheath by his thigh. The boy flinched at the metallic sound. He did not move his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moth and Light

**Author's Note:**

> Shout-out to imperfectkreis for allowing me to recycle Courier Charlie's soul and spirit into her stepson Courier Avery, and also for proofreading this thing like ages ago. And then I forgot about it. Enjoy.

Benson, Arizona. Once a small fleck on the surface of an American map. A quiet, dusty, arid suburb next to the rails.

 

Modest, pastel houses with chain-link enclosures lay barren and forgotten, after the world ended. The tribes took decades to fill out in the area, to populate it once again, renewing the desert, and destroying it as well with their own wars, much smaller and insignificant than the one that wiped out the United States.

 

Vulpes lay low on the rocks, scope to his eye, watching. Nothing in particular. A survey. His scope swayed gently. He was never steady enough to be an efficient sniper.

 

Benson was now a simple trading post, a fraction of the size it was in 2077. Brahmin caravans replaced the frequent trains; patches of corrugated metal attempted to fix the houses that still stood. Too far south, too far east for the NCR to touch.

 

It wasn’t a location of importance. It had nothing to do with Caesar’s stretch northwest, towards the Hoover Dam. Until one of Lanius’ Praetorians had vanished. Vulpes sent his best Frumentarius to locate him, and discover a motive. To his great satisfaction, he had found both. “Benson,” he said. “With a woman and infant,” he stated. Vulpes needed to know nothing further. He prepared for the trip east.

 

 

 

He found his mark: Tall, built enough to be a Praetorian. Brown hair, tan. A bandage wrapped around his wrist — Vulpes scoffed. What a pathetic attempt to cover the deep and obvious scar Lanius knew he had.

 

He wondered, for what must have been the tenth time in his life —  _Do these profligates really believe they can hide?_

 

The traitor had bought food and farming supplies from a passing caravan. He then travelled slightly out of Vulpes’ sight. Vulpes huffed and rose, stretched behind a derailed train car. He would send a runner back to Cottonwood Cove in the morning. Locating him for Caesar was all that was needed until he sent his men to set an example.

 

 

 

 — — — 

 

 

 

The Legion didn’t go for the element of surprise. They arrived in the middle of the afternoon. They marched in lines, to the main road. Those who had time ran, but the world around them was so flat, so empty. They’d be found with time and wouldn’t make it far. Most just surrendered. Vulpes saw this happen every time they went through this song and dance. He smiled thinly.

 

They were here on behalf of the traitor, sure. But leaving with the heads of just the traitor and his family is not how Caesar operated.

 

The men came to a stop, Legion flags lightly fanning out in the wind. It was quiet, for a while. 

 

Somewhere, a woman finally cried.

 

Blood, fire, and ash.

 

 

 

 — — — 

 

 

 

Final sweep through Benson. Vulpes and a handful of his men stayed behind to do a comprehensive search through the town’s buildings for any possible stragglers.

 

In the dim lamplight of the small warehouse next to the railroad tracks, Vulpes fell into a routine. Looking low and then high (much more likely a peasant to hide beneath something than have the strength to climb above), right to left (purely preference). He heard the slow shuffle of boots along the concrete towards the back wall.

 

What a sight he was. A child of maybe sixteen, dark hair falling across his timid face, biting his lip so hard it bled. Eyes wide, hazy, and sick. He sat against the wall, hugging his knees.

 

“What’s your name, profligate?”

 

The boy continued to stare, to bite at himself. He opened his mouth once, let it close again without a sound. He tried again. “You’re just gonna kill me anyway.”

 

“You would like to die without a name? Cowardly, you know,” Vulpes idly picked at his nails. “Real men die with honor. Are you not yet a man?”

 

“My name is Avery.”

 

Vulpes smiled. “Stand up, profligate.”

 

The boy lowered his palms to the ground, shuffling to his feet slowly. He stood up straight, firm.

 

Vulpes stepped forward towards the boy, looking into his eyes. The boy maintained eye contact. He wasn’t completely intimidated, Vulpes mused.

 

“Have you hid here this whole time? Or did you run here, like a dog?” Vulpes removed his knife from its sheath by his thigh. The boy flinched at the metallic sound. He did not move his eyes.

 

Vulpes waited for a response. Nothing. His eyes shifted to the boy’s neck. Pocked and dirty, with what appeared to be pinpricks along the left side. His eyes traveled down near the collar of his shirt. The pricks were everywhere. A chem fiend, so young. His mother must have been proud.

 

He held his knife to the child’s flesh, at the imperfect row of needle marks lining his neck. The fox toyed with his prey when they were cornered like this, these innocent and fragile things. But his patience grew thin as he realized the child wasn’t pure, chems tainting his blood. The child shivered.

 

Vulpes was taken aback when the child swiftly took Vulpes’ feet from under him, his knees smacking the concrete. The child bent over him. Bony, bruised hands wrung his neck, a boot pressed hard into his sternum. 

 

Vulpes recovered his knife from the floor and stabbed the child’s side, earning a pained yelp. He stabbed twice wherever he could reach, his arms pinned down from a surprising strength. Blood spilled on his armor, the concrete. The boy rose, clutching his wounds, knees buckling. Vulpes tackled the child, sending them both careening into a shipping crate. The boy held the side of his face where it had struck the metal, blood from his side staining his face and hands. 

 

Vulpes smiled, the boy letting out pained, low noises through his heavy breathing. The boy’s eyes met his, and Vulpes holds his gaze.

 

Enough.

 

He stabbed towards the boy’s abdomen. The child’s hands held the blade and Vulpes’ eyes widened, the boy pushing the blade away from his writhing frame as he screamed through the pain. He kicked Vulpes hard, and he is knocked back, just enough for the boy to nudge away and run   towards the back door of the warehouse.

 

Vulpes rose and sprinted after him. The boy attempted the door handle, but his hands couldn’t find traction. There was so much blood. It dribbled down the door; down his pant legs. He began to break, coughing and crying. ‘ _No.’ ‘ No.’_

 

Vulpes caught up to him, and the child turned around quickly and landed a backhand directly on Vulpes’ jaw. Before Vulpes knew what was happening, the boy was upon him again.

 

Such strength. Such natural, abundant strength.

 

 

 

 

The boy, still crying silently, breathing heavy, lifted one hand. His fingers pressed deep into Vulpes’ right eye socket. 

 

Vulpes, for the first time in many years, screamed. Vulpes, for the first time in history, fell limp.

 

 

 


End file.
